


All in How You Mix the Two

by speccygeekgrrl



Series: you brought the sunlight in [3]
Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: M/M, Ridiculous levels of fluff, music as a metaphor for love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vince has the music he likes, and Howard has the music HE likes, and there is virtually no overlap between the two. Almost. So finding something they both enjoy is a noteworthy event.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All in How You Mix the Two

Vince is hard at work at his sewing machine when Howard comes into the bedroom. He glances over briefly and smiles before turning his attention back to the fabric.

"What are you making?" Howard asks, walking over and peering over Vince's shoulder. 

"No, don't look, it's a surprise," Vince says, reaching back to cover Howard's eyes. "You'll see it when it's done. No lookin' yet."

"Like I can tell what I'm looking at anyways, looks like a bundle of fabric to me," Howard says with a chuckle, but he turns around anyways to appease Vince, who sews to the end of the hem he's making and snips the thread. "That is quite a decisive shade of hazelnut, though," he adds, and Vince elbows him in the hip as he throws a bolt of bright blue fabric over the whole table.

"Shut it. You saw nuffin'." He stretches when he stands up, rolls his shoulders and winces at the cracking sound his neck makes. A sure sign he's been at it for too long. Almost done, though... Vince is deliberating over kicking Howard out and finishing it tonight when his thoughts get derailed by the subject of his deliberations kissing the back of his neck. Oh. That's nice...

"Would you listen to something with me?" Howard asks. 

"Not jazz," Vince says immediately, and Howard sighs.

"Not jazz," he promises. "It's something I think you'll like. Hope you will, anyways."

"Does this hafta do with the vinyl that came in the mail yesterday?" Vince didn't need to see anything but the shape of the package to know what it was-- it's not like records are an infrequent occurrence in this household's post. 

"You looked?" 

"Not a peek. Don't wanna break out in hives touching your records." 

"This shouldn't set off your jazz allergy," Howard promises, and Vince lets himself be led out to the couch by his suspiciously excited boyfriend. "It's bossa nova, Seu Jorge is Brazilian actually, but you-- just give it a chance, will you?"

"I'm all ears," Vince says, wondering how long politeness dictates he put up with Howard's music and whether he can distract the man enough to make an escape to the bedroom. Howard gives him a nervous smile as he lowers the needle onto the record.

It's an acoustic guitar, inoffensive, but Vince's interest is piqued when he realizes he knows the tune. The words are in Portuguese, but Bowie spans the language barrier. It's soft, soothing, Rebel Rebel dressed down to a single instrument and a warm, deep, foreign voice. Howard hovers by the record player until Vince holds a hand out to him and pulls him down to the couch, where they fit together as naturally as breathing, so long practiced at cuddling that it takes no thought at all. Vince tips his head against Howard’s shoulder and hums along to the music, until the song ends and he looks up to find Howard watching him closely.

“It’s nice,” Vince says, and Howard brightens, worry visibly evaporating. The next song starts, and Vince identifies Life on Mars right off the bat. “Is the whole album like this?”

“It’s all bossa nova Bowie covers, yes,” Howard says, “It’s all right, is it?”

“It’s wicked,” Vince confirms, and he leans up for a kiss that turns into a bunch of kisses, and honestly he doesn’t know quite how they got from that first soft kiss to him straddling Howard’s lap with his hands tangled in fine brown hair, but it happens in less than the length of the song, and Howard laughs a bit breathlessly when the song ends and Vince pulls back to look at him.

“It’s an actual miracle,” Howard explains, “Music we both enjoy instead of one of us barely tolerating it. I’d really hoped you would like it.” His big hands spread out over Vince’s sides, rubbing his skinny ribs through the soft worn fabric of a vintage t-shirt. “I half thought it was impossible.”

“It’s a bit chill compared to your usual,” Vince says, absolutely determined that Howard will never find out that he occasionally listens to Nina Simone when Howard’s not around. It’s not like his _whole_ collection is rubbish… just the great majority of it.

“Compared to _my_ usual?” Howard snorts, “When was the last time you listened to anything acoustic?” 

“I listen to Live Lounge,” Vince insists, “I listen to you twiddle around with your guitar.”

“Twiddle around!” Howard huffs, turning his face away when Vince goes in for a kiss. “I do not _twiddle around_ , I play masterfully.” 

“Come on, you know what I meant,” Vince says, and yelps when Howard unceremoniously topples him off his lap and onto the couch. “Howard…”

“You sit there and don’t say anything,” Howard says, pointing at him before going to turn the record player off. He doesn’t look as annoyed as his actions seem to indicate, Vince thinks as he sits up, watching Howard pull his guitar out from behind the couch. “I _was_ going to do this anyways, but now you’ve challenged me, sir.”

“I only--”

“Shh! No. Just listen.” He looks down at his guitar, focusing on the strings instead of his attentive boyfriend, not wanting to choke before his grand romantic gesture even takes shape. He can feel Vince’s eyes on him as he licks his lips and starts to sing. “People stared at the makeup on his face, laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace…” Vince makes a quiet, high-pitched sound and Howard glances up just enough to see Vince biting his knuckles. “The boy in the bright blue jeans jumped up on the stage, and Lady Stardust sang his songs of darkness and disgrace.” 

He’d practiced for hours after the album arrived yesterday afternoon, getting the deceptively simple guitar just right. The words he’s known forever, or close to forever, his memory vivid of some long-ago afternoon hanging around after school when Vince pulled out a CD and declared that Ziggy Stardust was the only proper way to introduce Howard to glam rock. As soon as Howard saw the track listing for the Seu Jorge album, he knew it would be something Vince would give a chance, and the instant he heard the bossa nova version of Lady Stardust he decided that Vince should hear it from him first, in English, full of the adoration there was no chance of disguising if he did it right. He can do this right, he thinks, as long as he doesn’t look at Vince and get nervous.

“And he was all right, the band was all together, yes he was all right, the song went on forever, yes he was awful nice, really quite out of sight, and he sang all night long.” His plan would work better if Vince wasn’t trying to meet his gaze, shifting further along the couch and gazing up at him with the kind of intensity in his blue eyes that might be able to kindle Howard into flames of helpless, overwhelming passion. “Femme fatales emerged from shadows to watch this creature fair, boys stood upon their chairs to make their point of view, and I smiled sadly for a love I could not obey. Lady Stardust sang his songs of darkness and dismay…” He only makes it a third of the way through the chorus before the magnetic pull of those bright eyes snares him, and the song trails into nothingness as his fingers get suddenly clumsy. He ducks his head as he sets down his guitar, not expecting Vince to launch himself from the couch and throw his arms around Howard’s neck, hauling him down into the tightest hug either of them can recall.

“That was well brilliant,” Vince breathes in Howard’s ear, sounding a bit husky. “Definitely not just twiddling around.” He presses a fleeting kiss to Howard’s cheek, a more lingering one to parted lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Wrapping his arms around Vince’s waist, Howard lifts him off his feet, holding him close and kissing the giggle right out of his mouth. “I thought you’d like it,” he says, setting Vince back down on the couch, and Vince pauses him with a hand on his chest before he can sit down as well.

“D’you think we could listen to the rest of it?” 

The only thing that can remove the smile from Howard’s mouth for the rest of the night is Vince’s mouth kissing it away.

**Author's Note:**

> The whole Bowie cover album is here: [Seu Jorge’s “The Life Aquatic Studio Sessions” album](http://vimeo.com/100345071)
> 
> And [just the version of Lady Stardust is here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pnkf-9sqEuc).
> 
> But I highly recommend the whole album because it's just really really lovely and even David Bowie likes it, so if he likes it you should definitely listen to it.


End file.
